Holley shrugged. "You can find something queer almost anywhere, if you look for it. The gun was gone -- yes. What of it? Madden may have sold it, given it away, taken it to his room."
Bob Eden leaned back in his chair. "I guess you're right, at that. Yes, the more I think about it, here in the bright light of afternoon, the more foolish I feel." Through a side window he saw a flivver swing up before the grocery store next door, and Charlie Chan alight. He went out on to the porch.
"Ah Kim," he called.
The plump little Chinese detective approached and, without a word, entered the office.
"Charlie," said Bob Eden, "this is a friend of mine, Mr. Will Holley. Holley, meet Detective-Sergeant Chan, of the Honolulu Police."
At mention of his name, Chan's eyes narrowed. "How do you do," he said coldly.
"It's all right," Eden assured him. "Mr. Holley can be trusted -- absolutely. I've told him everything."
"I am far away in strange land," returned Chan. "Maybe I would choose to trust no one -- but that, no doubt, are my heathen churlishness. Mr. Holley will pardon, I am sure."
"Don't worry," said Holley. "I give you my word. I'll tell no one."
Chan made no reply, in his mind, perhaps, the memory of other white men who had given their word.
"It doesn't matter, anyhow," Eden remarked. "Charlie, I've come to the decision that we're chasing ghosts. I've talked things over with Mr. Holley, and from what he says, I see that there's really nothing wrong out at the ranch. When we go back this evening we'll hand over those pearls and head for home." Chan's face fell. "Cheer up," added the boy. "You, yourself, must admit that we've been acting like a couple of old women."
An expression of deeply offended dignity appeared on the little round face. "Just one moment. Permit this old woman more nonsense. Some hours ago parrot drops from perch into vast eternity. Dead, like Caesar."
"What of it?" said Eden wearily. "He died of old age. Don't let's argue about it, Charlie --"
"Who argues?" asked Chan. "I myself enjoy keen distaste for that pastime. Old woman though I am, I now deal with facts -- undubitable facts." He spread a white sheet of paper on Holley's desk, and removing an envelope from his pocket, poured its contents on to the paper. "Examine," he directed. "What you see here are partial contents of food basin beside the perch of Tony. Kindly tell me what you look at."
"Hemp seed," said Eden. "A parrot's natural food."
"Ah, yes," agreed Chan. "Seed of the hemp. But that other -- the fine, grayish-white powder that seem so plentiful."
"By gad," cried Holley.
"No argument here," continued Chan. "Before seeking grocer I pause at drug emporium on corner. Wise man about powders make most careful test for me. And what does he say?"
"Arsenic," suggested Holley.
"Arsenic, indeed. Much sold to ranchers hereabouts as rat killer. Parrot killer, too."
Eden and Holley looked at each other in amazement.
"Poor Tony very sick before he go on long journey." Chan continued. "Very silent and very sick. In my time I am on track of many murders, but I must come to this peculiar mainland to ferret out parrot murder. Ah, well all my life I hear about wonders on this mainland."
"They poisoned him," Bob Eden cried. "Why?"
"Why not?" shrugged Chan. "Very true rumor says 'dead men tell no tales'! Dead parrots are in same fix, I think. Tony speaks Chinese like me. Tony and me never speak together again."
Eden put his head in his hands. "Well, I'm getting dizzy," he said. "What, in heaven's name, is it all about?"
"Reflect," urged Chan. "As I have said before, parrot not able to perpetrate original remarks. He repeats. When Tony cry out in night 'help, murder, put down gun' even old woman might be pardoned to think he repeats something recently heard. He repeats because words are recalled to him by -- what?"
"Go on, Charlie," Eden said.
"Recalled by event, just preceding cry. What event? I think deep -- how is this? Recalled, maybe, by sudden flashing on of lights in bedroom occupied by Martin Thorn, the secretary."
"Charlie, what more do you know?" Eden asked.
"This morning I am about my old woman duties in bedroom of Thorn. I see on wall stained outline same size and shape as handsome picture of desert scene near by. I investigate. Picture has been moved, I note, and not so long ago. Why was picture moved? I lift it in my hands and underneath I see little hole that could only be made by flying bullet."
Eden gasped. "A bullet?"
"Precisely the fact. A bullet embedded deep in wall. One bullet that has gone astray and not found resting place in body of that unhappy man Tony heard cry for help some recent night."
Again Eden and Holley looked at each other. "Well," said the editor, "there was that gun, you know. Bill Hart's gun -- the one that's gone from the living-room. We must tell Mr. Chan about that."
Chan shrugged. "Spare yourself trouble," he advised. "Already last night I have noted empty locality deserted by that weapon. I also found this, in waste-basket." He took a small crumpled card from his pocket, a typewritten card which read: "Presented to P.J. Madden by William S. Hart. September 29, 1923." Will Holley nodded and handed it back. "All day," continued Chan, "I search for missing movie pistol. Without success -- so far."
Will Holley rose, and warmly shook Chan's hand. "Mr. Chan," he said, "permit me to go on record here and now to the effect that you're all right." He turned to Bob Eden. "Don't ever come to me for advice again. You follow Mr. Chan."
Eden nodded. "I think I will," he said.
"Think more deeply," suggested Chan. "To follow an old woman. Where is the honor there?"
Eden laughed. "Oh, forget it, Charlie. I apologize with all my heart."
Chan beamed. "Thanks warmly. Then all is settled. We do not hand over pearls tonight, I think?"
"No, of course we don't," agreed Eden. "We're on the trail of something -- heaven knows what. It's all up to you, Charlie, from now on. I follow where you lead."
"You were number one prophet, after all," said Chan. "Postman on vacation goes for long walk. Here on broad desert I can not forget profession. We return to Madden's ranch and find what we shall find. Some might say, Madden is there, give him necklace. Our duty as splendid American citizens does not permit. If we deliver necklace, we go away, truth is strangled, guilty escape. Necklace deal falls now into second place." He gathered up the evidence in the matter of Tony and restored it to his pocket "Poor Tony. Only this morning he tell me I talk too much. Now like boom -- boomerang, remark returns and smites him. It is my pressing duty to negotiate with food merchant. Meet me in fifteen minutes before hotel door."
When he had gone out, Holley and Eden were silent for a moment. "Well," said the editor at last, "I was wrong -- all wrong. There's something doing out at Madden's ranch."
Eden nodded. "Sure there is. But what?"
"All day," continued Holley, "I've been wondering about that interview Madden gave me. For no apparent reason, he broke one of the strictest rules of his life. Why?"
"If you're asking me, save your breath," advised Eden.
"I'm not asking you -- I've got my own solution. Quoting Charlie, I think deep about matter -- how is this? Madden knows that at any moment something may break and this thing that has happened at his ranch be spread all over the newspapers. Looking ahead, he sees he may need friends among the reporters. So he's come down from his high horse at last. Am I right?"
"Oh, it sounds logical," agreed Eden. "I'm glad something does. You know, I told dad before I left San Francisco that I was keen to get mixed up in a murder mystery. But this -- this is more than I bargained for. No dead body, no weapon, no motive, no murder. Nothing. Why, we can't even prove anybody has been killed." He stood up. "Well, I'd better be moving back to the ranch. The ranch and -- what? Whither am I drifting?"
"You stick to your Chinese pal," advised Holley. "The boy's good. Something tells me he'll see you through."
"I hope so," Eden replied.
"Keep
your eyes open," added Holley. "And take no chances. If you need help out there, don't forget Will Holley."
"You bet I won't," Bob Eden answered. "So long. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."
He went out and stood on the curb before the Desert Edge Hotel. It was Saturday evening, and Eldorado was crowded with ranchers, lean, bronzed, work-stained men in khaki riding breeches and gaudy lumber-jack blouses -- simple men to whom this was the city. Through the window of the combined barber shop and pool room he saw a group of them shaking dice. Others leaned against the trunks of the cottonwoods, talking of the roads, of crops, of politics. Bob Eden felt like a visitor from Mars.
Presently Chan passed, swung round in the street, and halted the little touring car opposite the boy. As Eden climbed in, he saw the detective's keen eyes fixed on the hotel doorway. Seating himself, he followed Chan's gaze.
A man had emerged from the Desert Edge Hotel -- a man who looked strangely out of place among the roughly-clad ranchers. He wore an overcoat buttoned tightly about his throat, and a felt hat was low over his eyes, which were hidden by dark spectacles.
"See who's here," said Eden.
"Yes, indeed," answered Chan, as they moved down the street. "I think the Killarney Hotel has lost one very important guest. Their loss our gain -- maybe."
They left the all-too-brief pavement of Main Street, and a look of satisfaction spread slowly over Charlie Chan's face.
"Much work to do," he said. "Deep mysteries to solve. How sweet, though far from home, to feel myself in company of old friend."
Surprised, Bob Eden looked at him. "An old friend," he repeated.
Chan smiled. "In garage on Punchbowl Hill lonesome car like this awaits my return. With flivver shuddering beneath me I can think myself on familiar Honolulu streets again."
They climbed between the mountains, and before them lay the soft glory of a desert sunset. Ignoring the rough road, Chan threw the throttle wide.
"Wow, Charlie," cried Eden, as his head nearly pierced the top. "What's the idea?"
"Pardon, please," said Chan, slowing a bit. "No good, I guess. For a minute I think maybe this little car can bounce the homesick feeling from my heart."
CHAPTER VIII
A Friendly Little Game
FOR A TIME the little brother of the car on Punchbowl Hill plowed valiantly on, and neither the detective nor Bob Eden spoke. The yellow glare of the sun was cooling on the gray livery of the desert; the shadows cast by the occasional trees grew steadily longer. The far-off mountains purpled and the wind bestirred itself.
"Charlie," said Bob Eden. "What do you think of this country?"
"This desert land?" asked Charlie.
Eden nodded.
"Happy to have seen it. All my time I yearn to encounter change. Certainly have encountered that here."
"Yes, I guess you have. Not much like Hawaii, is it?"
"I will say so. Hawaii lie like handful of Phillimore pearls on heaving breast of ocean. Oahu little island with very wet neighborhood all about. Moisture hangs in air all time, rain called liquid sunshine, breath of ocean pretty damp. Here I climb round to other side of picture. Air is dry like last year's newspaper."
"They tell me you can love this country if you try."
Chan shrugged. "For my part, I reserve my efforts in that line for other locality. Very much impressed by desert, thank you, but will move on at earliest opportunity."
"Here, too," Eden laughed. "Comes the night, and I long for lights about me that are bright. A little restaurant on O'Farrell Street, a few good fellows, a bottle of mineral water on the table. Human companionship, if it's not asking too much."
"Natural you feel that way," Chan agreed. "Youth is in your heart like a song. Because of you I am hoping we can soon leave Madden's ranch."
"Well, what do you think? What are we going to do now?"
"Watch and wait. Youth, I am thinking, does not like that business. But it must be. Speaking personally for myself, I am not having one happy fine time either. Act of cooking food not precisely my idea of merry vacation."
"Well, Charlie, I can stick it if you can," Eden said.
"Plenty fine sport you are," Chan replied. "Problems that we face are not without interest, for that matter. Most peculiar situation. At home I am called to look at crime, clear-cut like heathen idol's face. Somebody killed, maybe. Clues are plenty, I push little car down one path, I sway about, seeking another. Not so here. Starting forth to solve big mystery I must first ask myself, just what are this big mystery I am starting forth to solve?"
"You've said it," Eden laughed.
"Yet one big fact gleams clear like snow on distant mountain. On recent night, at Madden's ranch, unknown person was murdered. Who unknown was, why he was killed, and who officiated at the homicide -- these are simple little matters remaining to be cleared."
"And what have we to go on?" Eden asked helplessly.
"A parrot's cry at night. The rude removal of that unhappy bird. A bullet hole hiding back of picture recently changed about. An aged pistol gone from dusty wall. All the more honor for us if we unravel from such puny clues."
"One thing I can't figure out -- among others," said Eden. "What about Madden? Does he know? Or is that sly little Thorn pulling something off alone?"
"Important questions," Chan agreed. "In time we learn the answers, maybe. Meanwhile best to make no friend of Madden. You have told him nothing about San Francisco, I hope. Shaky Phil Maydorf and his queer behavior."
"No, oddly enough, I haven't. I was wondering whether I hadn't better, now that Maydorf has shown up in Eldorado."
"Why? Pearls are in no danger. Did I hear you say in newspaper office you would greatly honor by following me?"
"You certainly did."
"Then, for Madden, more of the hoo malimali. Nothing to be gained by other course, much maybe lost. You tell him of Maydorf, and he might answer, deal is off here, bring pearls to New York. What then? You go away, he goes away, I go away. Mystery of recent event at ranch house never solved."
"I guess you're right," said Eden. They sped on through the gathering dusk, past the little office of the Date City optimist, deserted now. "By the way," added the boy, "this thing you think has happened at the ranch -- it may have occurred last Wednesday night?"
"You have fondly feeling for Wednesday night?" asked Chan. "Why?"
Briefly Bob Eden related Paula Wendell's story of that night -- Thorn's obvious excitement when he met her at the door, his insistence that Madden could not speak to her, and most important of all, the little prospector with the black beard whom the girl saw in the yard. Chan listened with interest.
"Now you talk," he commented. "Here is one fine new clue for us. He may be most important, that black-bearded one. A desert rat, I think. The young woman goes much about this country? Am I correct?"
"Yes, she does."
"She can retain secrets, maybe?"
"You bet -- this girl can."
"Don't trust her. We talk all over place we may get sorry, after while. However, venture so far as to ask please that she keep her pretty eyes open for that black-bearded rat. Who knows. Maybe he is vital link in our chain." They were approaching the little oasis Madden had set on the desert's dusty face. "Go in now," Chan continued, "and act innocent like very new baby. When you talk with father over telephone, you will find he is prepared. I have sent him telegraph."
"You have?" said Eden. "So did I. I sent him a couple of them."
"Then he is all prepared. Among other matters, I presumed to remind him voice coming over wire is often grasped by others in room as well as him who reclines at telephone."
"Say -- that's a good idea. I guess you think of everything, Charlie."
The gate was open, and Chan turned the car into the yard. "Guess I do," he sighed. "Now, with depressing reluctance, I must think of dinner. Recall, we watch and wait. And when we meet alone, the greatest care. No one must pierce my identity. Only this noon I could well have applied to mysel
f resounding kick. That word unevitable too luxurious for poor old Ah Kim. In future I must pick over words like lettuce for salad. Good-bye and splendid luck."
In the living-room a fire was already blazing in the huge fireplace. Madden sat at a broad, flat-topped desk, signing letters. He looked up as Bob Eden entered.
"Hello," he said. "Have a pleasant afternoon?"
"Quite," the boy replied. "I trust you had the same."
"I did not," Madden answered. "Even here I can't get away from business. Been catching up with a three days' accumulation of mail. There you are, Martin," he added, as the secretary entered. "I believe you'll have time to take them in to the post-office before dinner. And here are the telegrams -- get them off, too. Take the little car -- it'll make better speed over these roads."
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